


Thus Always to Tyrants // An Ishimondo Fanfiction

by skeletonappreciationday



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Cottagecore, Cottagecore Kiyotaka Ishimaru, Farmer Kiyotaka Ishimaru, Fluff, Gay Ishimaru Kiyotaka, Gay Owada Mondo, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Oneshot, POV First Person, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prince Mondo Owada, Sad Ending (but not really), also daiya is younger than mondo, ishimondo - Freeform, just.....just go with it, shhhhh, speaking directly to the reader, u just gotta imagine ur a member of the town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonappreciationday/pseuds/skeletonappreciationday
Summary: The final words of Prince Mondo Oowada, sentenced for death after running away from home. An admission of guilt, moreover an admission of love.
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Thus Always to Tyrants // An Ishimondo Fanfiction

I did not expect everything to end without a bitter tragedy. Everybody always assumes I did, calls me a fool for doing so, but I did not. I knew our Love was an impermanent state, much more so did I know that nothing would end as I sometimes hoped it would. The jeer of being called naïve for my actions is false, I can tell you now, I knew all would end without much joy to account for. I did not continue for the ideation of the end, however. I suppose a great many of you folk know not of who I truly was nor of what truly happened, and I presume that the best way to get you to understand is to start at the beginning, though before I do so I must tell you that I am not ashamed of what I did and that it was by my own will.

The sun melted a purple hue into the ocean as I sat atop that tower, strumming the paper like a lute with my thumb. I did not wish to be married off and always strongly opposed it; I cared not for princesses or nobles and never had, but my mother and father always assumed I would grow up, out of it. I was not permitted to argue with their assumption – ‘One should never argue with the King nor the Queen, not even their own son!’ they always exclaimed over banquets or in empty halls. After a considerable number of attempts to persuade them in favour of my argument, I knew they were unmoving on the subject and that I must be married off by my eighteenth birthday, thus I no longer made an attempt to debate with them.

I thought longingly of how one would avoid marrying a princess when the only true subject that enthused oneself was the gardener that one’s father fired after he planted pink roses in favour of red. Of course, I would be exiled if I were to tell them of my thoughts, or perhaps I would be thrown in a dungeon with little more than stale bread and dirty water to suffice. Fleeing felt like a rather petulant option but I had no other option; it was either I run from the castle before the morning breaks, or I am forced to marry a woman I could never love.

I would not care if my brother, aptly named Daiya, were to be crowned King instead of me, despite his being years younger; in fact, I would gladly bestow the sceptre upon him myself. Wealth and power meant little to me, little more than Love herself did anyway, and I had always been labelled a fool for such a thing. Sometimes, I strode into the village, cloaked and unrecognizable, hoping you all would think of me as one of you, of course, I have a few definable features that proved to you who I was during every visit.

I slipped into my quarters with little difficulty: I was not one for confinement and, ever since childhood, I had been slithering in and out of my dwelling without much notice from others. I had been gifted a small, brown leather backpack suitable for carrying food, drink, and an enjoyable book that I planned to pack with such items. I knew they would not last me forever, nor would I be able to exist on these things alone, but I planned to flee far enough to a village where nobody knew me or recognized my visage and there I would be able to purchase food, drink, even clothes. I pulled a single copy of a book that was filled with such wonders as poems, hymns, odes, and sonnets and gently placed it within the confines of the bag. It was a late summer’s eve and I had grown to adjust my ways around that of my mother and father’s, thus I knew they would be long asleep.

I slunk into the pantry, my feet as quiet as if they were bare on the stone floor, and seized a small, round loaf of bread from a shelf taller than I, sliding it into my bag which I was carrying by the strap. I also took truss of grapes that I tucked away inside my pocket if it ever befell me that I became hungry along my journey but wished not to eat my more sustainable food option. At last, I filled a spare leather water flask from a wooden hook on the door and filled it, as silently as possible, with water, wincing as it began to overflow and sputter out onto the floor.

I slung it over my shoulder much like a satchel, lugging the bag, which was not intolerably heavy but was certainly not light, over onto my back. I still held that letter from my mother listing potential candidates for my wife, all of whom I knew extraordinarily little of. I lay it in the area in which the loaf of bread I had stolen once rested, and it sat there, waving me off as I turned to leave.

I considered everything for a final moment before I stepped out of our front entrance. Both guards on either side had fallen asleep and lay languid, slumped down into horrible positions, their snoring the sole sound the castle carried. I wondered what would happen when they found out I had gone missing; perhaps they would think I had been stolen in my sleep by a witch who wished to imprison me in a solitary tower, or perhaps they would see my letter and acknowledge it as my parting. Either way, I did not see things turning out so wonderfully.

Our castle, as you know, is situated on the largest hill of the land, overlooking the humble village with stonewalls and might. The grass sighed beneath my feet as I marched down, the sky lit by the Moon and the stars. Moths flew around and I could hear the faint hoot of owls in the distance, stationed at the top of the large trees that make up our forest. Each step carried with it a sense of both guilt and pride, but onward I marched. I planned to head through our forest, picking berries and mushrooms I knew to be safe to eat as I pursued a faraway village where my face was just another among the townsfolk. It was getting colder by the moment and I realized then it was foolish of me to bring neither a blanket nor cloak beyond the small burgundy doublet I donned.

I felt ill when I thought of those women who would be riding out in their carriages, making long journeys for tomorrow morn, in order to try to win my admiration, betrothment, and ultimately hand in marriage. But I thought even more ill when I thought of ever marrying one, much less bearing a child with one. I do not see why one should make such a fuss of an unwed and childless man or woman for that matter.

I had not slept well the past few nights and thus, when I stationed myself atop a log deeper in the forest than I had realized, and lay down for a brief moment, I succumbed to sleep as soon as I tucked my arm under my head. It was not a comfortable substitute for a bed, but, as I thought to not dissuade myself, it would do better than sharing a more relaxing bed with a woman whose feelings I could never reciprocate.

When I awoke, a doe was sniffing at my hair, blowing in the morning breeze. The sun was only beginning to melt its light into the sky. She was a beautiful creature, tall and wide-eyed, her fur soft and smooth under my palm as I sat up and stroked it, careful not to startle her away. She continued to sniff at me, getting oddly close to my shoulder as I smiled, my hand on her face. She looked up as if somebody had held a candle to her in the darkness, turned and galloped away; even in her panic, she was majestic. I dared turn around to see what had caused her to take leave.

A man, no older than I, stood stiff, much like the doe had acted upon, I imagine, seeing he. He held a small porcelain teacup in his two hands, raised to his chest and almost tucked below his chin. He donned a shirt, laced loosely around his chest and at the cuffs, along with a pair of brown trousers, too large for him and no shoes. His hair was rather messy, falling into his eyes, parted in the middle, and his freckled face looked as startled as his demeanour.

“You seemed cold, so I fetched you a cup of tea,” he had said with a timid, diffident expression. “I’m very sorry to have intruded—”

“Nonsense,” I replied with a smile, turning around for my body to face him. “It was admirable of you to be so kind and thoughtful.”

He shuffled forward and handed me the cup, cold and yet the dark liquid inside steamed. “You look terribly familiar…” he murmured, sitting beside me. I swallowed, hoping he would not recognize me as I was. “Perhaps you just have one of those faces, though not many folks come here.”

I looked to his bare feet, “you live here, in the forest?” He nodded feverishly. “Doesn’t it get awfully lonely?”

“I suppose it does sometimes, but the animals are more than friendly enough.” He grinned a wide, lopsided smile.

“I’m Mondo Oowada,” I said, not feeling the need to lie, enamoured by his sudden openness and joyous grin. “What might your name be, sir?”

“Well, I have always called myself Taka.” And thus, I met him, Taka. _Taka_.

“Do you have no name? Nor any family name to bear?” I asked, and, by his first reaction, his must have thought me curt, but the smile crept back upon his face as he said, “no, I suppose I don’t. I live in a cottage not too far from here, what I presume was my father’s, though I remember very little of life beyond the age of ten; I grow vegetables there, I could show you if you’d like.” He stood and held his hand out as if to guide me; his eagerness was unlike any I had ever seen in a man. Nonetheless, I placed my hand in the palm of his and he dragged me ever so considerately to a charming, rustic cottage fit to be from a folk story or a fairytale. He led me around to a small thicket, swinging a gate open, revealing many patches of varied vegetables that were already prospering under the shade of the foliage above. Carrots, cabbages, potatoes were all he showed me, but he had several more patches that he assumed I wouldn’t be very interested in.

“Do you need something to eat?” he asked after long silent deliberation. “I could cook you up a small stew, or perhaps I might have some pie leftover.”

“No, no, I have bread and grapes, I think I shall be fine for now.” Everything this boy said or did further enticed me; I do not know what I must have been thinking to refuse his cooking, something made with tenderness rather than the hope of pay.

“Bread and grapes? Nonsense, you must eat something with more longevity, something more filling, something homemade!” he exclaimed and took my hand once again, leading me into his humble cottage.

It was warmly lit inside and decorated immeasurably well, full of small collections of fanciful rocks and coloured glass bottles and clothbound books stacked high.

He served me a slice of a sweet brown pie of larks that he already had prepared, which I ate with fervour, though everything I had been brought up with told me such a thing was immoral and undistinguished. “You enjoyed it I hope?” he said with a dovish expression as he picked up my empty plate and moved it away.

“You cook as wonderful as any under employment of the king.”

“And how would you know such a thing?” He chuckled. “You exaggerate.”

“Will you let me stay here? Not for long, I assure you.” I paused and waited for him to sit opposite me when I took one of his hands in both of mine and looked at him tenderly in the eyes. “You see, I’m on the run from my old life, and I need a place to stay for a few nights until I can acquire the courage to traverse to the village just beyond the next.”

“I see…” he considered for a moment, looking down at his hand which had been trapped in both of mine. “Well, I suppose you can.” I could have picked him up and spun him around with the delight I felt. “You ought not to sleep on logs, after all: they don’t do too many wonders for the state you wake up in.”

“Thank you, Taka,” said I and he grinned his usual grin once more. “Truly, thank you immeasurably. You are far too kind, and I am just a mere stranger.”

“I was not too honest before.” He rose and stood by a window, looking wistfully out. “It can get awfully lonely out here, despite how close I have become with the woodland creatures.” He sighed, turned to me, and said, “but you look to be good company” – a smile – “like a man who has many tales to tell.”

I considered for a moment. “Have you heard of the Cailleach?” I asked, hoping he had not so I could indulge him in the accumulation of knowledge I had stored over the years.

“I haven’t,” he said, sitting back down with an inquisitive expression. “Do tell.”

And of such, I told him. He sat and listened in silence, a stunned yet intrigued expression etched upon his face, leaning forward with every line, hanging on to every word. I had many feelings regarding my conclusion of the story, more so that I pondered what to say next or if words were even suitable in the situation.

He was ever so close to my face and I felt obligated to place my gentle hand against his tender face. He regarded me with at first surprise before my cheeks reddened with infatuation and a smile found its way to his lips. I felt the most at peace as I ever had before staring into his large, round, brown eyes. Each of us knew not what would come next, and I presume that we both were expecting the other to do something. He placed his hand atop mine, my eyes still plunging into the depths of his. The sun danced through the window. In the next moment, he kissed me, long and hard and deliberate, and I kissed him back, certainly not as a reflex. As he pulled away, we each carried the same wide eyes and dumbfounded silence written on our faces.

“You are a prince, are you not?” asked he, his eyes finding anywhere to look but my gaze.

I wished to have denied his allegation, yet in every freckle on his face and wisp of hair in front of his eyes, I could not find a place to lie. “How were you able to tell?”

And spoke he, “you dress and act much like one.” And he rose from near me and exited the room, muttering words under the guise of his breath as he did such.

Later, when the stars were beginning to purge the sun from the sky once again, I discovered a woodland creation, weaved from leaves and vine and branches, much resembling a trundle bed. It had been completed with a tapestry throw and white pillow. I had not seen Taka a second time that day, rather I supposed we each too reluctant to face one another after that encounter; I blamed not him nor I for this, and reasonably so: a man like he or I is perfectly eligible for the punishment of death.

It was perfectly comfortable and, as I woke up with the sun in the morn, I felt little pain but emptiness in my heart. He sat upon the table, lowering a teacup from his mouth, and witnessing me rise from my slumber. “I am sorry for the way I acted yesterday,” said he and continued, “it was sinful of me.”

“Perhaps it was sinful.” With this, an apprehensive expression persecuted his face. “But what does heaven have that one cannot find in the arms of a swain?”

He paused, dared look me in the eyes. “Sanctuary.”

“Ah, but you are yet mistaken,” I said, pushing myself off of the bed to stand and drift over to him. “Sanctuary is found when your heart takes root in your soul when the eyes of another meet with yours and there is its own kind of holiness within them.”

“You have a way with words,” stammered he.

“Only regarding the things that matter.”

For the following few days, we were at peace with one another; he chose a more indirect path of his affections, but I dared not shy from them. I had grown quickly fond of him and, equally, he of me. I told him tales of dragons and Gods, leaning over his fence, watching him tend to his gardens, whilst at night he told me stories of his own life and the animals. I was restful in his spirit, enjoyed the mannerisms of how he moved without realising he did such things, enjoyed watching him work or talk with enthusiasm. I thought of being devoted to something as much as I felt devoted to him, but little came as a result of my pondering.

It was our final day together that I thought to be the one I treasured most.

We lay on the grass, a step away from his thicket fence; I rested on my back with one hand cushioning my head, and his head atop my chest. We spoke of inconsequential matters, such as when he thought he may have to water his garden again or if I had ever been frightened at getting caught. The answer was, of course, no; I was not scared and had not even considered what my mother and father might have done in the several days of my disappearance.

I played with his hair subconsciously as I chuckled at something he had said before saying myself, “do you ever think there will be a time where we do not have live in such secrecy?”

“In an optimistic world, I should say yes.” He sighed and looked up at me. “But, in fear of sounding too hopeful, I chance to say no.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Birds flew above our heads in the crystalline blue of the sky. He was weightless in his movements, thus, as he fell asleep, I knew not that he had. But after a few moments of looking at him in such grace, I had found myself in slumber as well. Flowers settled at our bare feet, which had been smothered in leaves and dirt from the day.

“Your Majesty, we found him! The prince!” were the words that had managed to awaken us both. It was Taka who took initiative to stand and run, stopping after a few paces to turn to me and ask me to join him, but I was seized before I could do so. I mouthed for him to go as a gruff hand grabbed at my shirt collar, and he, with eyes as glassy as water under the moonlight, span on his heel and tore through the forest. I did not even have the opportunity to tell him the three words I had longed to say to him. The knights did not run after him: it was me they wanted.

“Let go of me, you swine!” I yelled, not caring for their weapons or physical superiority, trying to worm my way free of them.

“Oh, you wait until the King hears about this one, boys!” the knight who had a harsh grip of me taunted to the others behind him, who met the mock with cruel laughter.

And it is there, I dare say, that my story ends. I sit here, in one of the many dungeons, a single day away from my fate. I have not seen Taka since he slipped from the knights and subsequently my life, but he devours my thoughts each wintry night. It is optimistic of me to suggest this will ever come into publication, though if it ever shall: thus always to tyrants.

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil cute ishimondo oneshot cos i feel bad for not updating my other fic


End file.
